


Best of a Bad Situation

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good thing you're kinda cute, or I'd hold this whole <i>we're so going to die in an elevator shaft</i> thing against you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best of a Bad Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tv_universe community for the romance trope prompt "flirting under fire". (Inspiration taken from Persnickett's supplemental prompt, "mistake".)
> 
> * * *

It's one of those gleaming glass and steel structures that dot the interstate, the kind that used to hold the management offices for local chain stores. Now it holds a bunch of dead people walking around, and is surrounded by a lot more walking corpses, and he and Daryl are really all sorts of fucked. 

Glenn buries his axe in another rotting skull, darts around the falling body and puts the long receptionist desk between him and the dozen or so walkers still left in the room. He risks a quick glance over his shoulder. "Anything?" he calls out.

"Goddamn fire door," Daryl yells back. "Can't get through!"

Glenn grimaces, turns back in time to dodge a skeletal hand reaching for his sleeve. He jumps back and hacks out at a geek rounding the desk, hears bone crack and sees shards splinter and fly as his axe takes the woman across the face, sends her plummeting backward onto the slick floor. Down, but not out. He steps forward to finish the job, flinches when another walker felled by one of Daryl's bolts flops at his feet. Then another is upon him, and he doesn't have time to think; he can only slash out, fall back, regroup. His foot slides in the thick, viscous liquid coating the floor and he goes down to one knee, kicks out with the other foot to take down the walker leaning eagerly toward him, open mouth snarling, maggots crawling sluggishly through the gaping hole where its cheek used to be. He finds his axe somehow in the mess and swings low, grunts in satisfaction as the top half of the walkers skull slides ponderously to the floor. 

He's up and on his feet in a defensive stance as Daryl takes out the last with a quick stabbing motion to the base of the skull, watches as the man quickly ducks down to retrieve his arrow. Glenn leaves him to it, turns in a circle and takes in the large reception area. "Maybe we can find something to remove the hinges," he says in between gulps of air, "now that we've got some breathing room."

The sound of the glass cracking is sharp and distinct, and Glenn whirls toward the large picture windows, winces as the first crack appears. The walkers press insistently forward, dozens upon dozens of them, a multitude of snarling undead faces and snapping teeth pushing against the glass. Even as he watches, stunned and silent, the crack spreads, widens.

"You were saying?" Daryl snaps out.

"Where are they coming from?" Glenn murmurs. He shakes his head, studies smooth blank walls covered with indistinct art, shadowy recessed lighting, dusty oversized chairs. He lifts a shoulder. "Elevator?"

Daryl meets his eyes, shrugs back. "Ain't like we've got a choice."

The first window crashes open behind them just as they're finally able to wrench open the elevator door wide enough to gain access, and there's a brief moment of panic when Glenn doesn't think they're going to be able to get it closed again. He redoubles his effort, feels the twist in his back as he strains against the weight and tries to ignore the way the walkers steps seem to get quicker when they see trapped prey. Tries to ignore the stench of them, and the eager hands reaching out, and the snarls that fill the room. 

The door snaps shut with a metallic bang just as the first walker reaches them, closes on vapid glazed eyes and snapping jaws.

Glenn leans against the back wall, lets his eyes close briefly. The thudding of the walkers fists seems to beat in time to the pounding of his skull, the rapid fire beating of his heart. 

"Now what?" Daryl says. "You got any more bright ideas?"

Glenn opens his eyes, side-glances the other man. "You know, if I hadn't thought of this you'd be walker chow right now."

"If you hadn't given me the wrong directions in the first damn place—"

"I _said_ turn LEFT," Glenn insists.

"No," Daryl argues. " _I_ said, 'Turn left?' And YOU said _right_!"

"Right! As in… correct. Turn LEFT."

He watches as Daryl blinks, then slumps back against the other wall. "Shit," he mumbles. 

"Yeah," Glenn says. He pushes off from the back wall, crosses the tiny elevator to nudge Daryl's shoulder with his own. "Good thing you're kinda cute, or I'd hold this whole _we're so going to die in an elevator shaft_ thing against you."

Daryl pushes back, but Glenn notices that he can't quite hide the answering grin. "You got any other bright ideas?"

Glenn tips his head back, swipes a hand through his hair. Then he blinks, turns back to Daryl with a smile. "You ever seen _Die Hard_?"

Daryl's gaze follows his to the panel at the top of the shaft. He snorts, but he flings the crossbow onto his back gamely, hoists himself up on the handrail and pokes at the panel. It lifts off easily, and when Glenn clambers up onto the other rail he can just make out dirty cables disappearing into inky darkness. He meets Daryl's eyes, and they both look down in unison when the elevator door shudders behind them.

"You go first," Glenn says. 

"Ain't no John McClane," Daryl says. He juts a chin at the gaping hole. "Up and at 'em, boy."

Glenn shakes his head but hoists himself up into the shaft, glances over his shoulder. "You just want to stare at my ass," he says.

"Busted," Daryl says. "Now get!"

Glenn supposes it says something about the kind of relationship they have that he spends the first twenty feet hauling himself up an oily cable from which a fall would mean certain disaster still grinning like an idiot. 

By the time Daryl punches his way through the entry onto the roof Glenn has a new appreciation for his arm and shoulder muscles, too. 

And when he's standing on the blacktop in the back parking lot, keeping one eye out for stragglers from the front of the building and the other eye on Daryl shimmying the last thirty feet down the drainpipe, he starts to wonder if maybe they can stop on the way back to the camp. 

There was a little motel a few miles down the road that might be clear.


End file.
